


Apparent Radiant

by RoguishShrimp



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alien Hunting, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Asexual Pidge | Katie Holt, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Canadian Allura, Conspiracy Theories, Cryptid Hunting, Established Relationship, Established Shiro/Allura, Farmer's Markets, Fast Food, Fluff, Friendship, Gay Keith (Voltron), Gender-Neutral Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Ghost Hunting, Going on said adventures, Keith (Voltron) is a Mess, Lance watches trash tv, Multi, Planning Adventures, Pop Culture, Road Trips, Slow Burn, Stargazing, Summer, Vrepit Sal's is a food truck, cuz why not, fun times, ghosts vs. cryptids discourse, hella slow burn, keith and pidge are conspiracy buddies, old sci-fi references, shay is just a great gal, the castle of lions is an RV, there is a heist, wacky uncle coran
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-18 14:29:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11292561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoguishShrimp/pseuds/RoguishShrimp
Summary: “Okay, okay so yeah, I’m totally joining your Junior BFRO club, and I’m bringing Hunk.”Pidge and Keith, cofounders of Garrison Tech's Cryptids and Conspiracies Club, haven't accomplished much since teaming up. Mostly, they just watch B-list sci-fi movies from the '50s, film Keith pointing at trees, and get together to rant about aliens every Thursday afternoon.Lance finds out about the club and decides to have some fun. Shenanigans ensue.Said shenanigans include but are not limited to: Crokinole theft, (attempted) actual theft, a spite-fueled road-trip, bigfoot hunting, gratuitous car games, accidental romance, and (somehow) friendship.





	1. Lyrids

**Author's Note:**

> Me and my friend had headcanons, took them to far, wrote this. enjoy.

For someone who prided themself on being a champion of cold, hard facts, Pidge knew a suspicious amount of Bigfoot trivia. 

Pidge had always taken comfort among machines and numbers; black and white ideas with a right and wrong outcome. Things that just made sense. They suspected that that may have been where their interest in the unknown began. Pidge grew up asking questions; trying to understand everything, even the things people insisted were just coincidence. The point was never to prove either side right. It was to find the truth. 

It was an interest they shared with their brother, Matt.

It was in middle school that Pidge realized that conspiracy theories would not get them where they wanted to go in life. They made the decision to stop trying to prove everything that couldn’t be explained. But even then, the interest didn’t stop. It just developed. The theories turned into musings, and then to jokes. It was all ironic, they told themself.

 _So then what am I doing here?_ they thought as they propped their leg up on the old netless pingpong table on a spring afternoon, readjusting their battered camcorder to focus it back in on the only other person in the room. The subject of Pidge’s recording, Keith, paced back and forth as he continued his long winded rant about sightings of the Fresno Alien. It was a rehashed topic for their little club, but one of Pidge’s personal favorites. The night before, they had pulled a Red Bull fueled all-nighter scouring the deep corners of the web for new information.

The Cryptids and Conspiracies Club already had dozens of tapes about similar subjects stacked on a rickety aluminum cart that had been commandeered from the local library. The cart was also home to a large blocky television set, complete with built-in VHS player. Pidge, as a self-respecting computer science major, had declared the outdated setup to be the bane of their existence, but it had started to grow on them. The equipment was nestled in a corner of the unofficial club room, next to the large white board covered with clippings from various newspapers and messy red scrawl from a marker on its last breath. 

Keith stood in front of the board, gesturing wildly at one of the less reliable clippings as he passionately explained why the torn scrap of paper contained groundbreaking evidence that could _“totally change the entire game of cryptozoology, can you believe this Pidge?_ " 

Keith was an interesting guy, to put it mildly.

Pidge had first met him during their freshman year at Garrison Tech in a required English class, and then again in a math class, and in a history course after that. It seemed to Pidge that whatever class they were in, so was Keith. That was the first thing to catch their attention. As Pidge soon found out, they weren’t the only one who noticed.

“Who the hell is that guy?” Lance, one on their dorm neighbors, would ask during almost every class they both shared with Keith, “I mean seriously, what’s his deal?”

“I still don’t know,” Pidge would answer for what seemed like the hundredth time, not even bothering to look at the student in question.

Pidge had been mostly annoyed by Lance’s fixation, but they had to admit that they had been curious. Keith didn’t exactly blend in. He liked wearing all black, save for a favorite leather jacket and fingerless gloves that Lance insisted _“made him look like a total douche nozzle, who even wears fingerless gloves?”_ Pidge had seen him driving a motorcycle off campus that was equally obnoxious in terms of both noise and color, but he really didn’t fit the “biker guy” stereotype. He was surprisingly reserved and carried around an old, worn notebook that Pidge had never seen him without. 

That book was really what really piqued Pidge’s interest. On numerous occasions, they had seen Keith with his nose buried in it during one of their shared classes. He would stare off into space, seemingly lost in thought, apparently come to some realization and grab hastily for the notebook, jotting words down furiously before returning his attention to the professor. 

Pidge didn’t usually consider themself a particularly nosy person. However, they reasoned, anyone would be intrigued by that sort of odd behavior. 

So Pidge decided to get some answers. They had walked up to Keith after class one day when they saw him writing in the notebook once again.

“What’re you writing?” they had asked bluntly. 

...and got no response. Pidge tried again, clearing their throat.

“...sorry, what?” Keith hastily flipped the notebook shut and checked quickly over his shoulder to see if Pidge could be talking to someone other than him. 

“Yeah hey, I’m Pidge,” they blurted. Subtlety was not one of their strong suits. “I just wanted to know what you were writing in that notebook there. I’ve been trying to figure it out, and the only thing I know is that there’s no way it’s school notes. No one is that excited about calculus.”

“Uh,” the sudden interest seemed to have caught him off guard, “It’s just theories. Like, the truth about things, you know?”

“So, like, conspiracy theories?”

“Um… yeah?”

And that’s how it started.

<>

A year and a half later, Pidge and Keith claimed the lofty positions of co-founders of GIT’s very own Cryptids and Conspiracies Club. Granted, they hadn’t picked up any new members, and the club wasn’t exactly school sanctioned, but it was a work in progress. They had taken over a long forgotten basement in one of the older memorial lecture halls and set up shop with the help of Matt, who not only got them the terrible TV and accompanying cart, but also left them with his impressive collection of terrible sci-fi movies on VHS. Keith and Pidge had taken up the task of expanding on the collection, scouring the local thrift shops and surviving video stores for anything they didn’t already own.

The makeshift clubroom was dusty and full of cobwebs that stitched together the metal veins lining the ceiling. The floor was cement and the lights flickered. The furniture was sparse, the ventilation was probably clogged by rat nests, and the exposed pipes crisscrossing the walls were constantly creaking and groaning as if they were trying to speak. Pidge loved every last bit of it. 

Pidge had immediately known it was the perfect place for their little club to meet, but they couldn’t pin down exactly what about the abandoned room had drawn them to it at first and caused them to turn it into their own little haven. Reflecting on it later, they thought maybe it was the harshness. Through some strange loop of logic and association, Pidge had always associated harsh with truthful, and truthful with correct, and correct with safe. Then again, maybe it was the isolation. The room was untouched by anything personal, isolated and almost unnaturally generic. The coolness allowed for easy separation of the room and everything else, making it seem like something more than just an empty basement for their two-person club.

The club met once a week when neither of them had class, which usually ended up being on Thursdays. As it turned out, there was actually a reason why Keith had been in so many of Pidge’s classes. He had loaded his schedule with as many courses as he possibly could so that he would have time over the next few years to focus on figuring out what he was actually going to major in. 

The usual meeting consisted of hanging out in the clubroom, adding anything they had found throughout the week on a topic to the ever growing mess on the whiteboard. 

Sometimes they would explore the woods near campus, and Pidge would bring the old camcorder to film Keith walking around. The club archive was filled with videos of an oblivious Keith wandering around boulders and pointing at trees while Pidge’s sarcastic commentary could be heard in the background. They often entertained themself by adding their own documentary-style voiceover, usually about how the rare Woodland Keith could be seen enjoying his natural environment.

During other meetings, they would just do nothing. Pidge would bring their computer and work on something for class. Keith sometimes slept on one of the beanbags they had brought down for movie viewings or worked on one of his rare class assignments alongside Pidge.

It was a strange friendship they had developed. Pidge liked to think that they could consider Keith more than just an acquaintance, but they also hesitated to call the guy a friend. The two of them barely even talked outside of meetings. If they really thought about it, Pidge could probably fit all of the non-cryptid related facts that they knew about Keith onto a single index card. They wouldn’t be surprised if he knew just as little about Pidge. In comparison to Pidge’s friendships with Lance and his roommate, Hunk, it didn’t seem like much. Still, even if they didn’t text Keith in the middle of the night or host game nights in each others dorms, it was their own unique brand of companionship. Pidge was fine with that. 

<>

“What’re you doing?” Lance asked, peering over Pidge’s shoulder to squint at the computer screen. The laptop was set on one of the desks in Hunk and Lance’s room on a Friday evening that Lance had declared to be Game Night. Hunk was hunched over a hot plate in the corner, valiantly attempting to make personal pizzas, with ingredients at his side and some paper plates at the ready. Lance had been on game duty and returned from the student lounge, triumphantly slipping a smuggled game of Settlers of Catan out from under his hoodie and announcing that he _“had the goods.”_ He then dropped the game box unceremoniously on one of the beds before wandering over to bother Pidge.

Pidge was working on cleaning up the last video that they had taken with Keith. When Lance had come over Pidge had been replaying a part that showed Keith, standing slightly too far away to be heard clearly and pointing at a large rock they had found covered with fossils. He appeared to be in the middle of explaining something in great detail.

“Hey, isn’t that the guy who dropped out?” Lance asked.

Pidge looked at him, dumbfounded, “Uh, no. It’s Keith. You know who Keith is.”

“I know who Keith is,” Hunk interjected.

Lance looked back at him and the back at Pidge, slightly more unsure of his claim, “Yeah, the guy who dropped out. We saw him in like all our classes last year and then he, like, left or something. Why are you editing a video of him?”

“Ok, first off, he didn’t drop out; he’s just not taking an insane amount of classes this year. Second-” They paused for effect, “-what the actual fuck? Lance, I’ve been in a club with him for almost a year.” They raised their arms at him in disbelief.

“Wait, the reason you’re always busy on Thursdays is because you’re hanging out with _that guy?_ ” Lance put a hand over his heart, his face morphed into an expression of mock offense, “Pidgeon, I’m hurt.” Pidge rolled their eyes. “So who else is in your club?”

“Not too many people are fond of the truth, Lance,” Pidge said darkly.

“So… just you two?”

“Yeah,” Pidge said with a sigh.

Lance looked back at the video where it was paused on Keith mid gesture and back at Pidge. Pidge noticed a flicker of mischief weave its way into his expression as his eyes lit up. Pidge narrowed their eyes at him in suspicion, bracing themself for whatever Lance seemed to be planning. 

“I’ll join your club,” Lance said, smirk creeping across his face. 

“Really?” Pidge asked, incredulous. They weren’t buying it. 

“Yeah! Me and Hunk’ll join!”

“I will?” Hunk asked from his spot.

“Yeah,” He looked at Hunk gesturing excitedly, “It’ll be great. Pidge-” he looked back at them, almost hitting them with an outstretched arm, “- your buddy Lance, haver of fun and partier extraordinaire, is going to turn your little pity party of two crazy paranoid weirdos-”

“You believe in ghosts,” Pidge deadpanned.

“Yeah, because they’re real. Your point?” Lance said leaning back and crossing his arms. Pidge looked away shaking their head. “Anyway, your club is gaining two new members so buckle up ‘cause the fun train is coming to town, or in this case… uh- where exactly does your club meet again?”

“The basement of the Iverson building,” Pidge mumbled. Lance started, eyes widening and a grin spreading across his face before laughing hard enough that he had to sit down on the closest bed.

“Ouch,” Hunk said. Pidge looked at him with unbridled venom in their eyes, “No! I touched the hot plate, I wasn’t commenting on your club thing, I swear!” He said, frantically waving his arms in front of his face. 

Lance stood up from his spot on the bed wiping tears from his eyes that Pidge doubted were real and said, “Okay, okay so yeah, I’m totally joining your Junior BFRO club, and I’m bringing Hunk.”

“Great, I guess,” Pidge said, closing their laptop with a click and standing up. “Now, who’s ready to get their ass beat in Catan?”

“Mmm, me,” said Hunk, sucking some pizza sauce off his thumb before raising the arm and standing up, “I’ve also got the pizza ready, and I did a 7-Eleven run earlier, so there’s soda in the mini fridge if anyone wants it.”

“You guys are going down!” Lance said, taking his plate from Hunk and going to take his spot on the floor.

“Heh, yeah sure, Sir Lance-lose-a-lot,” Pidge taunted cheekily, earning a quiet ooo from Hunk that was cut short by a giggle. Pidge gestured at the small chalkboard leaning against the wall. It was covered with smudged tally marks in three columns, “Hmm, let’s see... Pidge: 11 wins, Hunk: 8 wins, oh, and Lance: at a measly 5 wins. Sorry, but we can’t play _Apples to Apples Jr._ every time, Lance.”

Hunk snorted, trying to stifle a laugh. Lance shot him a mock betrayed look.

“Yeah, yeah,” Lance huffed, “Enough jabbering from the both of you.”

“I didn’t even say anything!” Hunk protested between bursts of laughter.

“You didn’t defend me!”

“Excuse you. I am a fair and impartial bystander,” Hunk replied with a snort.

“Yeah but-” Lance started, “Ugh, whatever, let’s just do this thing.”

“I thought you’d never ask.” Pidge said grabbing the box from the bed and dropping to the floor.

<>

The next week, Pidge texted Keith and asked him to reschedule their meeting for Saturday so Lance and Hunk could join them. They couldn’t tell if Keith was excited or not to get new members, but Keith had never been the most expressive texter anyway. They figured it would become obvious soon enough when he actually met Lance and Hunk in person.

Pidge found themself conflicted about adding two more people to their little club. They knew Lance had ulterior motives, and even though they sincerely doubted that his intents were malicious in any way, they were still reluctant to indulge him. They doubted anything disastrous would come from including the others but nothing good either, they decided to just see how one meeting with them went.

Left their room at 11:30 on Saturday morning, god-awful camcorder in hand, currently equipped with the newly edited and label VHS tape. They sighed before walking next door to get Lance and Hunk. The meeting was supposed to start at noon but Pidge was hoping to get there early enough to get Lance used to at least the room before any club activities actually started.

They knocked twice before moving to the side to lean against the wall while they waited. Ten seconds later Hunk opened the door followed by Lance.

“Good morning, Pidge,” Lance greeted, “Ready to hunt some squatch?”

They looked at him, “You do know there are things other than bigfoot, right?”

“Yes, geez.”

“Hey, Pidge,” Hunk said cutting Pidge off from asking Lance exactly what else he knew about cryptids.

They just responded, “Sup,” thankful to Hunk for the interruption allowing for them to reconsider asking Lance just what he thought he knew about cryptids.

“Ok let’s go,” Lance started, walking to the stairs, “Iverson building, right?”

“Yeah,” Pidge called after him before turning to Hunk, looking at him questioningly. Hunk just shrugged before following Lance down the hall.

Pidge was trying hard not to be too suspicious of Lance’s excitement. They wanted to be optimistic and just be grateful that their friend seem interested. Pidge knew Lance believed in ghosts and they’d occasionally caught him watched Finding Bigfoot “ironically.” Hell, he was even an astronomy major, so maybe he had secretly always wanted to prove aliens existed? That gave them some reassurance, but the logical part of them knew Lance’s sudden enthusiasm would probably lead to something disastrous.

<>

“Something disastrous” ended up being an argument, or a series of related arguments between Lance and Keith.

When Pidge, Hunk, and Lance showed up to the clubroom at 11:45 it was, thankfully, empty. Keith hadn’t shown up early so Pidge had about 10 minutes to get all the snarky comments they could out of Lance. It wasn’t a hard thing to do.

“Wow, I mean, I knew you guys met in a basement, but this-” Lance waved his hand in a wide circle in front of him, “-this is just something else.” He slowly made his way over to whiteboard, making sure to run his hands over the pingpong table on his way. Pidge was thankful that he didn’t comment on the way that his fingertips cut trails into the layer of grime covering the table, which had probably never even seen a dusting rag.

“Jesucristo, you guys are nerds,” Lance said, plucking one of the clippings from the board, “This has gotta be from like, what, the 1950s?”

Pidge made their way over to him, taking the paper from his hands and looking it over, “1947, actually,” They carefully pinned article back in it’s spot in the tangled mess of paper and string, “You know, the Roswell UFO incident?”

Lance grinned, “Never heard of it. Guess that’s why I’m here- to get _educated_.” He put a suspicious amount of emphasis on the last word.

Pidge was about to respond when Hunk piped up. He had made his way over to the television set and was flipping through the collection of VHS tapes that were threatening to collapse the cart that they were precariously stacked on, “Wow, Pidge, you’ve been holding out on us on movie nights: Destination Moon, Phantom from Space, Earth vs. The Flying Saucers, freaking _Gog._ I haven’t even heard of most of these!”

“Yeah, for good reason,” Pidge smirked, “Most of them are terrible.” 

The movies seemed to have caught Lance’s attention, and he sauntered up next to Hunk. He flopped onto one of the two bean bag chairs facing the TV with an oof, “Hey Hunk, pass me some of those.” 

Hunk handed him a few of the tapes from the top of the pile. Lance looked them over, grin spreading across his face as he read the summaries and titles to himself. “Pidge, these do, in fact, sound horrible, but in the absolute best way,” He picked up one of the tapes. “I mean, just listen to this,” He cleared his throat dramatically and tried his best to imitate some sort of accent from the 50’s, _“Aliens from another world,_ no shit, _plan a takeover of Earth, to use our planet as breeding grounds for their food supply, giant creatures. However, a teenage alien rebel falls in love with an Earth girl, and learning about Earth, he plans to stop the invasion. Death ray guns that turn humans into mere skeletons, spaceships, monsters and fear, make this a true “Scream Gem.”™_ -oh, and I didn’t add that last bit- it’s actually trademarked. Holy shit, this is amazing. We have to watch it.”

That was, of course, when the heavy metal door clicked open and Keith, fingerless gloves and all, entered the room. “Hey, Pidge,” he said as the door swung shut behind him. He went and set his bag down on the table and then headed over to where Lance and Hunk were situated. “Hello, I’m Keith-”

Lance cut him off, “I know who you are.”

“Uh… okay, well-”

“You’re the guy that was in, like, all my classes last year,” Lance gestured vaguely.

“I mean, I took a lot of classes last year, so…”

“You had a mullet,” Lance’s comment earned a confused yet slightly insulted look from Keith, “You still have a mullet! And you were always writing in that notebook! Apparently writing about bigfoot!” Pidge let out an exasperated groan as they buried their face in their hands. Apparently Lance just wanted to confront Keith about his general Keith-ness.

Keith, apparently getting fed up, asked, “Yeah- who’re you supposed to be again?”

“Uh, the name’s Lance,” the brown haired boy rolled his eyes, as if he were stating the obvious. 

When his introduction was met with only a blank stare from Keith, Lance tried again, “Ya’ know, Pidge’s BFF. I’m sure they talk about me all the time.”

“No, actually, they don’t,” Keith smirked as Lance shot Pidge an offended look. 

“Ok, well anyway,” Hunk butted in before Lance could respond, “He’s Lance. I’m Hunk. Now everyone knows who everyone else is. Great! So I guess we’re here to learn about cryptids and aliens and stuff, huh?” As a peace offering, he stuck his hand out towards Keith. Keith looked at it for a few seconds before warily holding out his own hand. Hunk grabbed it and gave it an enthusiastic shake, “It’s great to meet you. Thanks for letting us sit in today.” 

“Yeah, sure,” Keith replied, “Um, we should actually get started.” 

A horrible screeching noise bounced off the concrete walls as Keith pulled one of the mismatched metal chairs away from the table so that he could sit facing the others. He grabbed his bag off the ping pong table and retrieved his notebook from the front pocket. 

In the year that Pidge had known Keith, they had slowly observed the journal become more and more tattered. It now sported a large coffee stain across the cover, and wayward scraps of paper stuck out from between the pages at odd angles. Pidge had also seen inside of the thing a few times since they began hanging out with Keith. For the most part, it was a jumbled mess of old grainy pictures, articles, dates, locations and scrawled notes that were written in a way that only truly made sense to Keith. The pages were littered with odd exchanges like the one reading: _“Allura as mothman bait?”_ in Keith’s handwriting and in another _“NO KEITH,”_ followed by a loopy scrawling of _“I would prefer if you didn’t.”_ Pidge had chuckled when they read that, trying to picture how these other people must have stolen Keith’s journal to add their own notes. All in all, Pidge found the book amusing, but not particularly useful, or readable, for that matter. 

Lance and Hunk made their way over to the table, Lance pulling over one of the bean bag chairs and Hunk going to get one of the metal chairs stacked against the wall.

The meeting was going surprisingly well, Pidge thought, after about an hour. It was certainly exceeding their expectations, which, to be honest, hadn’t been that high. But at least it was something.

Lance did an impressive job of hiding his disbelief when Keith mentioned mothman, and he only raised an eyebrow when Pidge began to explain the Alexander Hamilton calf-napping of 1897. He asked a lot of questions, some serious, some sarcastic, but Keith and Pidge still did their best to explain. It was a little annoying when he would interrupt them with more questions, but more in an inconvenient way than one that made either of them particularly angry. 

Pidge had been sure that things were about to go downhill when Keith mentioned Richard Shaver and his claims of two battling robot societies. Lance had laughed for a solid minute, and Hunk tried to cover up his own snorts of amusement. Keith tried to explain that he and Pidge didn’t actually believe Shaver, but they still thought that it was important to consider all claims or theories about the unexplained. Lance just kept giggling, and Pidge was only worried for a second before Keith cracked a smile of his own - no need to worry after all. 

Things were good.

...and then Lance brought up ghosts.


	2. Pi Puppids

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are ghosts cryptids?” Lance asked off handedly, breaking the almost silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2! The plot is starting to pick up.  
> Thank you so much to anyone who left a kudo or comment, which were incredibly inspirational and sweet.  
> Enjoy

If someone were to ask Lance how the arguments started, he would probably spout some nonsense about how he was forced to defend his honor after Keith slandered his name. But, if Hunk were to be honest, that was just a _tad_ overdramatic.

Hunk had been sitting at the pingpong table, minding his own business. A Cryptid Club meeting was “technically” in session, but no one except Keith was doing anything cryptid-related. The table had been taken over by Hunk and Pidge, who were sitting in the middle of a mess of computers, metallic parts, and at least eleven cups of coffee. Keith was sprawled out on one of the bean bag chairs, practically sitting upside-down, and reading a book titled “Communication: A True Story” (which Hunk very sincerely doubted was actually a true story). Lance was laying on the floor, lazily kicking his legs as he played Luigi’s Mansion on his 3DS with the volume turned all the way up. The silent club room was filled only with the pleasant noises of off-key trombone and the occasional lightning crack. 

“Are ghosts cryptids?” Lance asked off handedly, breaking the almost silence.

“No,” Keith answered, without looking up from his book.

Lance paused his game and sat up, “Why?”

That got Keith to look at him, challengingly, “Because they aren't real?” 

Lance raised his hands above his head in exasperation. “I’m sorry, what?” he said, with a disbelieving gesture. 

“What?” Keith asked, setting his book down so that he could cross his arms as he narrowed his eyes at Lance. Hunk couldn't tell if he was genuinely confused or not. It didn't really matter either way, it was still bad.

In all the years he had known Lance, he had learned how much his friend hated being doubted. Once, Lance had sworn that he had met Rihanna while he was working at Burger King, and when no one believed him, he tried to send letters to her to verify complete with a headshot of himself. 

Hunk glanced at Pidge to see what they thought. Their face was carefully neutral as they studied Lance and Keith, who had taken to glaring at each other.

“Ghosts are totally real!” Lance exclaimed, and then launched into a dramatic reenactment of that one time that he swore he saw a ghost outside a Denny’s at three in the morning that was told just as much through spontaneous hand gestures and sound effects as actual, comprehensible words.

After making sure they weren't going to resort to violence Hunk tuned out Lance’s rant and went back to measuring out pieces of aluminum plating, while Pidge returned to their computer. Pidge and Hunk were working together on a joint project that they believed would help the whole club, or at least that was the reason Pidge had given. They both knew that the real purpose of the project was to save them from Lance’s filming skills, or lack therefore of.

Lance had taken over cameraman duties during the first expedition he was invited to, and he was horrible at it.

<>

As soon as the group had made it to the hiking trail that they planned to explore, he snatched the camcorder right out of Pidge’s hands. 

“I think my mom has one of these in the attic,” He said holding it up and turning it over.

“It’s pretty old,” Keith said, “We found it at a thrift shop that was going out of business. Got a really good deal.”

Pidge cut in “Yeah, but only because we bought every single one of those fucking blank tapes too. Keith apparently has them in boxes in his room.”

“Apparently?”

“I’ve never actually been to his dorm.” Pidge explained. “He could live in a cave for all I know. Maybe he really did drop out,” they raised an eyebrow at Lance.

“I didn’t drop out,” Keith grumbled, and started down the trail with a huff.

The group walked for maybe two hundred feet down the trail before veering off into the woods. Pidge explained that they had already looked around this area with Keith, but it was probably still a good place to introduce Hunk and Lance to the art of cryptid hunting. They walked deeper in until they came upon a little cove, with a small lake and lots of large rocks. It was like someone had scooped a bit of land out of the Earth and left the indent. Keith wandered over to a tree that was leaning precariously over the dropoff that lead to the oasis. He jumped up and grabbed at a rope that was tied around one of the tree’s lower branches, gave the rope a few sharp tugs to test its strength, and then proceeded to lower himself off the edge of the small cliff.

“Dude, what-” Lance started, “Ugh, do we have to climb?”

“Yep,” Pidge answered before looping the rope around their own waist and dropping down.

When they all made their way down, Pidge and Keith walked over to a group of indents in the rock face. Lance got out the camera, and Keith and Pidge took turns lecturing the other two on the significance of the rock formation. 

After a while, Keith pulled four protein bars and water bottles out of his backpack. Hunk looked down at them in disgust, “I’m bringing real food next time.”

Pidge fist pumped, “Yes!”

The four of them . Lance was the first to finish, and he stood up with the camcorder. He pointed it at Keith, “Vogue for me.”

Keith glared at him, “Stop it.”

Lance grinned, “You’re a terrible model. Where's your smize? Your booch tooch?”

Keith’s glare was replaced with a look of utter confusion. Pidge rolled back onto the grass laughing, “Did you just tell him to stick out his ass for you? Lance, your gay is showing.”

Lance looked appalled, “Ok first of all, it’s not for me- it’s for Tyra. Second, bisexual and also ew.”

Pidge snorted, “Yeah sure, whatever you say.” 

Keith looked even more confused, and a little offended, “Ew?”

Lance looked conflicted, “Uh, yeah. I’m not gonna date someone who doesn’t believe in ghosts. Goes against my _morals_.”

That got Keith’s glare back. 

Lance somehow kept the camera trained on him even as he danced around Keith’s attempts to yank the camcorder out of his hands.

<>

Time and again, Lance somehow always ended up being the one with the camcorder. Hunk tried to get it away from him, but it was no use. Lance declared himself the official club cameraman, despite the fact that he was absolutely terrible with the camera. He would grandly gesture with it, make more obnoxious jokes than Pidge ever had, and rarely ever actually pointed the camera at the things he was supposed to be filming.

“I mean, I like not being the one holding the camera, it doesn’t distract me from talking about my ideas, but,” Pidge reasoned with Hunk one afternoon as they sat in his dorm, “Lance is just a really bad camera man.” They were splayed out on Hunk’s bed, with their head hanging off the side. Hunk was at his desk working on a lab write up for class.

“Can’t be worse than me,” Hunk said good naturedly, leaning back in his spinny chair. He had tried being the cameraman once, but had forgotten that he was filming halfway through, and the tape had ended with a fifteen minute view of the ground featuring the occasional shot of Hunk’s shoe. He would admit that he was, arguably, worse than Lance, who usually came up with footage that was at least workable. 

Pidge sighed and was silent for a few seconds, “I wish we had like, a drone.” 

They lapsed into silence for a few more seconds before their eyes lit up and they gasped, “Wait, Hunk! HunkHunkHunk, my man, my buddy, my dude! We can totally- I mean, with a bit of planning, but it’s still possible, we just have to find some parts, and-”

Hunk cut them off as he swiveled around in his chair. “There are probably some tools we could use in the engineering department.”

“No one will miss them?”

“Eh, probably, but I won’t tell if you won’t.”

Pidge lifted their head, “Race you,” they said before vaulting up and off of the bed and dashing for the door, followed closely by Hunk.

“We are _doing_ this!” Hunk yelled, and Pidge’s shriek of excitement echoed down the hallway. 

<>

Keith was slowly being included in more and more of the group’s non-club-related activities. By Hunk’s suggestion, he was first invited to game night two weeks after Lance and Hunk had joined the club.

Hunk had just gotten back from a grocery run with the ingredients he needed to make them some reuben paninis and was fumbling around under his bed for his trusty hot plate when he asked, “Hey, why don’t we invite Keith?”

Lance sputtered, “Why?”

Hunk looked at him, disappointed, “Because he’s our friend, and it would be nice to invite him over. We never see him outside of the club.”

“Yeah- for good reason! He’s a fucking creepy cellar dweller!”

“New name for the club: _The Cellar Dwellers_ ,” Pidge snorted, “But I agree with Hunk. Keith might be weird, but he’s an okay guy. I’ll text him.”

Lance held his arms up in outrage, “Don’t I get a say?”

“You do. It was submitted to the council, considered, and outvoted, two to one. Better luck next time.” Pidge rolled their eyes and got out their phone. “Besides, I bet he’d be happy to be put on game duty. Unlike some people, they shot a glare at Lance. “He’ll probably do it better, even.” Hunk hummed in agreement as he started preparing a fourth panini.

Lance huffed at that, but didn’t protest further.

<>

Keith arrived about ten minutes later with a bag of half eaten funyuns that was held together with a hair tie. It reminded Hunk of a college student rendition of bringing wine to a dinner party.

“Okay, Keith, you’re on game duty,” Pidge said after taking the bag from him. When he looked confused they continued, “We don’t actually own any board games. Garrison Tech however has an acre of fresh board game fields ripe for the picking, i. e. the student lounge. Technically the games are supposed to stay in the common area, so we have someone go down there and sneak one out. It’s usually Lance but you’re new, so he has seniority. He also kind of sucks at it” 

“Hey! I resent that!” 

“Yeah,” Hunk said, ignoring Lance’s protest, “One time, he got caught, so we had to take turns playing DOOM on Pidge’s computer instead.” 

Lance snatched the funyuns from Pidge and jammed a massive handful of them into his mouth. “Just you guys wait. One day, I’m going to steal that big circle board thing, and you’ll all eat your words.”

“What circle thing?” Keith asked.

“It’s a...crokinole board? We think that’s what it’s called,” Hunk answered, “They hang it up on the wall like it’s some sort of art peice. Lance thinks he’s going to steal it someday- he’s been planning some mission impossible shit for months now.”

Keith scoffed, “Okay, I guess. I can get you guys a game. Any requests?”

Pidge had made their way over to Lance and was trying to get back the bag of funyuns. He was holding them above his head out of their reach. “No, you can choose. It’s your first game night after all,” they said as they grappled with Lance, landing an elbow in his stomach and grabbing the bag when he doubled over.

<>

“Wow. Just… wow,” Hunk nodded approvingly when Keith got back.

He had knocked on the door startlingly loud, which, when they opened the door, they found out was because he had kicked it. Both his hands were full, carrying the “legendary” crokinole board. It was large enough to hide Keith’s face, but he leaned around it to grin triumphantly as he entered the room.

Ugh, come on man!” Lance groaned when he looked up from where he was lying face down on his bed, clutching his stomach, “What the fuck even?”

Keith just smirked smugly at him and went to set it down on the floor. Pidge came over to it, crumpling up the empty funyun bag and tossing it at Lance who had gone back wallowing face down on his Space Jam comforter. It hit his leg, and Lance took a hand out from under him to flip them off.

Pidge sat down, ignoring him, “I didn’t think we’d ever get to play this! How the fuck did you even get this thing out of there?”

Lance sat up at that, “Yeah?” He said, narrowing his eyes at Keith, “How _did_ you steal this thing?”

Keith shrugged, “I just sort of-” he made a vague gesture, “-took it?”

Lance rolled his eyes, “Yeah, sure! I know what you’re playing at. You’re just trying to usurp my position!”

“Lance,” Hunk said, “You don’t even like being the game smuggler.”

“This is a matter of pride, Hunk!”

Pidge was just looking at Keith skeptically, “Ok, if you don’t want to tell us about however you stole this, that’s fine i guess.”

“I literally just walked out with it.”

Hunk put his hand on Keith’s shoulder, “Sure, buddy.”

Keith gritted his teeth, “I. Just. Took. It.”

“Whatever. Be like that, if you want. Let’s just play,” Lance said, sitting down.

Hunk and Keith followed him. They all stayed seated in awkward silence for a few seconds before Hunk asked, “So, anyone know how to play this?”

“Yeah,” Keith said after another second of seething, “One of my friends is dating this girl who’s from Ontario, and she’s gets really into it. She makes us play with her sometimes, but I don’t really know why she bothers. She always wins.”

It was shocking to Hunk, hearing Keith mention other friends. He had never talked about them before, and in the time Hunk had known Keith, he had never even seen him talk to any other students outside of class. It was stupid, he knew, or at least naive to think that they were his only friends.

He was happy they weren’t.

<>

Arguing was commonplace in the Cellar Dweller’s Club room (Pidge had taken the name change to heart, and even made a sign), almost exclusively between Lance and Keith.

Lance was usually the one to rile Keith into full blown cryptid rage in their conversations, but occasionally Keith would tease Lance. He memorably once slipped a folder filled with decidedly unreliable web articles about the differences between ghosts and cryptids under the door of Lance and Hunk’s shared dorm it the middle of the night. Hunk had had to talk to Keith about doing unintentionally creepy things while Lance told him he was surprised it wasn’t written in cut out magazine letters.

On one fairly unremarkable day in late April, Lance and Keith had started arguing. Hunk didn't know what set them off, but the clash of petty feuds between the two in the club room was so common that it had become a kind of background music. A favorite point of pointless contention was always ghosts, and Hunk could probably recite their arguments in his sleep by now. They always brought up the same things, things that weren't proven or even fact. It was a pointless cycle and nothing ever came from it. Except headaches. And a pretty hilarious google docs list Hunk and Pidge shared on the weirdest things that had been fought about. Number one on the list?  
Lance’s repeated insistence that the reason no one had been to Keith’s dorm was because of his “vast collection of mothman porn.”  
Their fights were always, more or less, harmless. Until Lance snapped. He had been listening to Keith debunk famous ghost stories, pacing the room and mocking the various websites and articles that Lance had painstakingly printed out the night before on the school printer.

“-and it's not like there aren't other explanations, there's no solid proof that-”

“It's not like you have any proof either!” He shouted and Keith stopped talking. 

Lance continued, “And you've been doing this shit for what, at least two years! And you haven't found a single thing, none of this is real, it's just a bunch of bullshit you want to believe in so bad that you delude yourself into thinking your right! I don't know why, to prove something? Make a name for yourself? Find out that there's something fucking bigger than us out there so you don't feel so goddamn alone!”

Keith looked at him for a second. His fists were clenched tight by his sides. For a minute Hunk was sure Keith was going to sock him. He didn't though, just snarled at Lance before turning on his heel and walking out of the room. He opened the metal door hard enough for it to slam into the wall making a loud clanging noise followed by another as it shut. 

When he left, all of the angry tension left Lance and he slumped over into the nearest chair, resting his head in his hands. Pidge had stopped typing, Hunk didn't dare move. The room was silent and the argument hung in the air like sulfur hexafluoride gas, dense and palpable. They sat in silence for a long time, no one moved. 

Then Lance sat back, dragging his hand down his face with an exasperated groan. 

“These chairs are the worst, we should get more comfortable chairs.” He tried to smile but it turned out forced and rueful. 

“Lance…” Hunk said. 

Lance stood up before he could finish, stretching. “Welp, I’ll look into the chairs, see you guys later.” He laughed, but it faded out at the end like he didn't have the strength to keep it up. He avoided eye contact, and his walk was stiff as he left the room as quickly as possible. He somehow didn’t manage to take the tension of the argument with him.

Neither Pidge nor Hunk stayed long after that. 

<>

Fighting made Hunk uneasy. He didn't like conflict, it stressed him out. The dramatics of Lance and Keith’s most recent fight still sat heavy and uncomfortable in his chest the next day as he he took the bus to the local farmers market.  
Hunk had found out about the market though one of the culinary professors who let him use the kitchens in exchange for samples of whatever he made. She had told him about it over a plate of particularly decent tamales when he had mentioned how much he missed the fresh produce that he could cook with when he was at home. He had made her two batches of brownies the next week in thanks, because the small, local affair had almost made him cry with the familiar intimacy of the rich smells pouring out of the backs of food trucks, the old married women who sold their french twist bread together, the light laughter and the familiarity between the dog walkers and the old man who sold jars or all types of honey.  
The farmer’s market was held in a secluded little pavilion, hidden a ways off of the highway and surrounded by trees and shrubs. He loved it, and it became his little personal tradition to go every Sunday when it was open. He would buy all the ingredients he needed (or could afford), then he would go to one of the food vendors and walk around, looking at the booths, noshing on fancy grilled cheese or stuffed grilled peppers or handmade donuts. His favorite so far was the pork ball soup and coconut mango sticky rice he had gotten from the family run Thai place. 

There was one more reason why Hunk loved the farmer’s market: Shay. He found her at one of the art booths, the soft velvet tablecloths covered with small rock carvings, pottery and two jewelry stands covered with earrings and necklaces in all sorts of colors. She was carving when he walked up to her, short hair clipped back and large earrings bobbing in a way that caught the sunlight as she worked. 

Hunks first thought when he saw her was that she looked at _home_. She was wearing the same earthy tones as her pottery, the same greens as the trees and browns that matched the dark wood that made up the pavilion. Her skin was dark like a rich clay, like she was sculpted from it, made to sculpt it. Her arms were muscular and her hands looked worn but steady. _Strong._ Hunk thought she looked like she could mold the world in whatever way she wanted, and it would let her because it was hers. 

She looked up when he approached. Closer, he could see she had been working on a cat carving out of some sort of yellow rock. Her whole stand smelled of honey and wildflowers and earthenware pots.

“Hello,” she said, smiling, her creation stilling for a moment in her large, callused hands as she greeted him. 

“Hey,” Hunk said, giving a small wave, “Did you carve all of these?”

“Yes, I carve all of the small ones. Some of the bowls and plates are mine, but my brother works on those as well. The jewelry, though, that is all my grandmother’s work.”

Hunk went over to one of the stands, taking a pendant in his hand and looking it over, “They're really pretty,” he looked at her and then down at the sculptures, his face warming rapidly, “Everything is really pretty.”

She looked away but not before Hunk caught her blushing too out of the corner of his eye. Or maybe that was just the light? He could swear his heart skipped at least seven consecutive beats. She looked back, shy and smiling. “Is that from Clementine’s?” She asked, and pointed at his hand. 

“Huh?” He looked down at the crepe in his hand. He had forgotten all about it. “Oh, uh, yeah.”

“Is it any good?” She tilted her head with the question, just a little bit to the left. 

“Yeah it's great, I've been making my way through all the food vendors here, it's one of my favorites so far.”

She pushed a loose hair out of her face, “Would you mind getting me one?”

“Sure.” If he stayed here another second he was going to end up buying the entire stand and then say something horribly sappy about her being more beautiful than the prettiest gemstone there, and his checkbook, or heart, _really_ couldn’t handle that.

He didn't need an explanation but she went on anyway, “It is just that I have been here all day and usually I have someone else or bring my lunch but I forgot today and-”

Hunk cut her off gently. “It's fine. Any requests?”

“Oh, honey and banana please!“

“Coming right up,” he said and headed back to the crepe truck. 

Hunk spent five minutes buying Shay the crepe, and another ten minutes hyperventilating just a little bit behind the crepe van before getting the nerve up to go back to her stall. She tried hard to pay him back, but he refused, and asked instead if he could sit for a second in her tent. It had been hot and bright all day, Shay had a small battery powered fan on. Plus, he wanted to talk to her more, watch her work.

He asked her about what she was making. 

“It is a cat,” she explained, “I am using some of this refined citrine. I have been working on it for a few days. I modeled it after one of the strays that likes to wander around my house. He likes to roll around in the catnip.” She paused and looked down at it, “I should finish it soon, in an hour maybe. How about I give it to you? As a thanks for the food,” she looked up at Hunk, and her eyes were big and warm and round. “and for keeping me company.”

“I couldn't, you’ve been working hard on that. It’s worth way more than a four dollar crepe.” Hunk laughed and stared at his palms.

“You may be right about that, but I'm sure enough crepes might eventually equal its value. Just promise to stop by again next week and get me another. It will even out in time.” Shay smiled.

Hunk was speechless for a second, “Okay,” he said finally. 

“Wait here for another hour and I will give it to you.” 

He just nodded.

An hour later, Hunk left Shay’s booth, cradling a small gift bag that was the most precious thing in the entire world to him at that moment. The little cat sculpture was carefully wrapped in cream-colored tissue paper and tucked inside the bag, which had a label that read _Balmera Stoneworking_ and _made from 100% recycled materials_ printed on the side. Shay had slipped her card in, which Hunk suspected was something she would do for any actual customer. He also suspected that the smiling flower that he had seen her doodle on the side of the card was not something she handed out to the average customer. 

“Come back next week!” Shay called after him as she waved goodbye. 

Hunk knew, in that moment, as he wandered off into the market with sunshine in his smile and a spring in his step, that there were few powers in the known universe that would be able to keep him away from that girl. 

<>

He comes back every week and brings her food every time. He's probably exceeded the price of the cat sculpture by this point but he doesn't mind. Shay’s sculpture sits on his desk, right next to his laptop, weighing down her business card.

Shay and him talked often. He found out a lot about her. Like that she's from a large family, that they live just out of town in a large old farmhouse that lost its fields to the surrounding forest years ago. They're big on self sufficiency. They have solar panels and a cellar stocked with preserves and canned goods. She went to community college. They feed cats that make their way onto their property and her mother got her into carving. 

And when his phone buzzes with a text from her, and he can’t stop smiling, or his face heats up just from a wave he wonders if he even had to fall for her at all, or if he just started out flat on his butt with this girl.

Not because of any of those things that he likes about her alone, but of what those experiences had created. He finds he really doesn’t mind at all.

<>

Shay actually got him his job. He had been complaining about wanting more money to spend at the market one day and the next she had talked to one of the food truck owners who agreed to let him help on market days. 

Shay knew he liked to cook, he had explained to her why he bought so much produce and brought her some cookies he made the following week. 

Shay had brought him up to the truck after she had packed up her booth. There was a man taking down signs and tucking in the trucks awning. 

“Hello, Sal,” Shay greeted the man, presumably Sal. 

He turned around to look at her. Sal was a middle aged man with bushy eyebrows, a goatee, and a small scraggly mustache. His face was set in a way that made him look vaguely angry almost always with deep set eye bags. He grunted in response.

“I heard you wanted some help on market days. Hunk here,” she gestured at him, “is a great cook and helper.”

“Uh, yeah, I’m great at customer service too, I can give you my resume if you want. I mean, I don’t have it on me but I can get it to you next week or I could email it to you if you would prefer-”

Sal cut him off “No need, kid, just show up next week at we’ll see how you do.”

Shay smiled at Hunk, he looked back at her, “Ok, see you then I guess.”

Sal grunted and went back to packing up. Hunk hugged Shay when they got back to her booth. “Thank you so much, Shay this is going to be great! I can come over on my lunch break and we can eat together, I’ll have more money, oh man.”

<>

 

Sal’s truck was creatively named Sal’s. It wasn't the most exciting the market had to offer. Hunk had tried it once, the second week he had gone to the marke. He remembered it being bland and unoriginal. Usually food trucks would pick one type of food and sell lots of variations, like Clementine’s Creperie, or the truck that specializes in just grilled cheeses. Sal’s didn’t do that, his menu was a mess of american classics, greek dishes, and the occasional italian favorite. Also swedish meatballs for some reason. Hunk was in hell.

The terrible part wasn’t the making or serving of the food. It was seeing the differences in popularity between Sal’s and the others, knowing what was wrong, and not being able to do anything about it.

When Hunk had gotten there the first morning, Sal had explained that the reason he was hiring was because he had trouble serving fast enough. Hunk had originally assumed it was just because of the extra business. As it turns out it was just that there were so many dishes on Sal’s menu that he couldn’t have everything pre-made. Hunk was in agony.

He complained about it to Shay the first day, “I want to help him! But it’s my first day and he doesn’t seem like he would want any criticism from anyone, let alone me. What am I supposed to do.”

Shay took a bite of her food, poutine today. “I think you should talk to him about it, ask him if you could maybe be put in charge for a day. I have had his food before, maybe bring some of your own recipes, I’m sure they are all very delicious.”

Hunk talked to him and was shot down, “No,” Sal said, “absolutely not, this is my truck, you're just a kid, I don’t want you running my business into the ground.” Hunk didn’t bring it up again until about a month later.

Sal had pulled up to the truck, gotten out, and immediately thrown up in a trash can. “Kid,” he put his hands on Hunk’s shoulder, “I need you to run the truck today.”

Hunk stood there silently for a moment debating whether or not to take advantage of this opportunity and implement some of his ideas.

“Sal,” he put his own hands on Sal’s shoulders, leaned down, looked Sal in the eyes and said, “I’ll do my best.” Whether that meant changing things up or not, Hunk wasn't sure yet.

Sal nodded at him, “I’m going to go home, I be back at the end of the day to get the money and pay you, good luck kid.” He turned to get in his car and leave. Hunk saluted his back.

Shay walked up as he pulled away. “Are you in charge for the day?” 

“Yeah, Sal is really sick,” he tapped a finger on his chin in thought, “...or just really hungover.”

“You should fix things, do it your way,” she said, “I know you have some good ideas. I will help, also. If you would like.”

“I did tell him I would do my best,” Hunk reasoned. He looked at the truck and then at Shay. He pushed up his sleeves, “Ok, let’s do this.”

<>

Together Hunk and Shay took down almost half the things on the menu. Hunk had decided to convert it to solely greek food, mainly because the market didn’t have any full greek food vendors. They ended up with a list of things Hunk knew how to make well enough. Hunk did a very fast grocery run while shay rewrote the chalkboard menu. They ended up with gyros, souvlaki, some greek burger variations, seasoned fries and mini baklava bites, a variation of Hunk’s mother’s favorite recipe.

They got everything prepped about a half an hour after the market officially started, thankfully not many people were ready to eat at ten in the morning. Shay had to go back to her booth with the promise to send any of her costumers his way and he promised the same.

His first customer was an older woman, “It’s so nice to have a greek place here,” she said and ordered a Chicken Gyro and told him about her first trip to Greece. Hunk talked to her while getting her food. He got it done in about two minutes, a marked improvement on Sal’s method. She took a bite when he handed it to her, “Oh my, this is very good. I’ll have to tell my friend Susan, she’ll love it.” She put the few dollars he gave her as change in the tip jar.

“Thank you so much,” he said, “enjoy your meal.”

“I’m sure I will,” She said and left.

After she left he looked at Shay’s booth. It was a ways down, but he could still see it. She was looking up at him. He waved and gave her a thumbs up, she gave one back.

<>

When Sal returned later, there was a line of people down the pavilion. Sal entered the truck, and came up behind Hunk while he was giving a man his order.

He slapped him on the back with slightly less force than normal, “Hey, kid. Doing pretty well for yourself I see.”

Hunk jumped, “Oh, hey Sal, yeah um, it’s been pretty busy.”

“I see you changed the menu.” He didn’t sound pleased.

Hunk gulped, “Yeah, just a bit.”

Sal put his hand on his hips, and leaned back looking at the line, the full tip jar, and back at Hunk. “Kid, I don’t appreciate you changing the food in my food truck without my consent.” He sighed, “But it seems to have worked out well, so you’re off the hook this time. Show me exactly what you changed next week and maybe we’ll keep it this way.”

Hunk could barely hold in his excitement, “Thank you, it’ll be good for business, I swear.”

“I’m sure it will, kid.” He turned and exited the truck, probably to go sit in his car and wait for Hunk to finish up. Hunk turned to serve the next person.

A few minutes later Shay showed up, “One order of miniature baklava, please.” She said.

“Shay!” He said, and went to get her order.

“I see Sal arrived.”

“Yeah,” He handed her the food, “I think he’s letting me keep it this way.”  
“That is wonderful, Hunk.” She took a bite of the baklava, “Mmm, now you can bring me some food you make for lunch every week.”

He smiled at her. She tried to hand him some money. “It’s free of charge, as a thank you for the help.”

She smiled back.

<>

When Hunk went to the basement early the next scheduled meeting day he walked in on Lance dragging a very old floral arm chair down the stairs.

“Need some help?”

Lance looked up, “Yes, Hunk, good. Help me get this into the clubroom.”

Hunk sighed and headed down the stairs to help. When they got the chair into the room, Hunk found out that it wasn’t the only new addition. There were two other chairs, one worn and grey swivel office chair and an obnoxiously pink, fizzy chair with the word _princess_ written across the back in a purple glittery cursive font.

“What the hell Lance.”

Lance shrugged, “You remember last meeting when I said we needed better seating?”

Hunk nodded, that wasn’t really what came to his mind when he remembered the last meeting but he would play along.

“Yeah, well...” He gestured to the chairs.

That’s when Pidge and Keith walked in.

“What the fuck, Lance?” Pidge asked.

“I’m offended by both your tone and immediate assumption that it was me.” Lance said, Pidge just crossed their arms. “Ok well we needed better seating so I looked around at, like, thrift stores and some street corners. And I found these,” He walked over to the arm chair, “This one is Hunk’s and the swivelly one is for Pidge.” He looked at Keith, “The princess one is Keith’s. Obviously.”

Keith stared at him, “No.”

Lance shrugged and sat down in it, “Guess it’s mine then,” Sitting in it only Lance’s head was above the table but he seemed to be ignoring that to make some sort of point. “You’re missing out, Mullet.”

Keith went to go sit in his normal metal chair, “I doubt it.”

He stopped before he sat down, picked up a seat cushion that had been put on his chair. He looked at Lance who was looking anywhere but Keith, then turned questioningly to Hunk. Hunk shrugged. Keith seemed to think for a minute before he put the pillow back on the seat and sat down.

“Ok, let’s start the meeting.”

<>

“I think he’s just ignoring that anything ever happened.” Hunk said. He was at Shay’s booth during his lunch break. He had brought her a lamb souvlaki and some fries seasoned with his own greek seasoning blend and some feta cheese. 

Hunk had been recounting the big fight Keith and Lance had. “I think Lance was trying to apologize with the chairs?” he said, but it sounded more like a question, “he always tries to fix things like this without actually acknowledging he did anything wrong. It’s infuriating.”

Shay put her hand on his shoulder, “Maybe you should talk with him. Try and get him to actually apologize.” She paused, “Whenever me and my brother used to fight, my mother would take us for a drive and would not take us home until we either made up, or at least came to an agreement. Maybe try something like that.”

“Put them in the same car together for hours? No thanks.”

Shay’s eyes lit up, “Go on a road trip! For the club, it’s bound to come up at one point if the whole point is to find something. Plus you will be there to moderate, it will be fun.”

“Hmm, maybe. I’ll bring it up.”

<>

By the time the next meeting rolled around, Hunk was planning to just let Lance and Keith be. It wasn’t his problem, he figured, and Shay’s plan would need things to get worse before they got better.

That was besides the fact that Lance and Keith had seemed to decide to completely ignore their big fight had ever happened. Hunk had expected at least some acknowledgement that something happened but, besides the new furniture, nothing came of it.

At first thought it was a good thing, like they were just moving past it, and on the surface that’s what it looked like. Hunk had always been a people person though, and he noticed the small things that happened Keith and Lance as time passed.

Lance would look at Keith worriedly when he thought no one was watching and tense whenever Keith entered the room like he was waiting for him to say something. Keith never brought it up but he was on edge all the time. He was even more quick to anger than usual and not just at Lance. Everyone was waiting for the other shoe to drop and it wasn’t healthy. They needed to work through this.

So Hunk brought up the road trip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also! if you have questions or would just like to talk, hit me up on [tumblr](http://roguishshrimp.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> ok so this is a joint project, thank you so much to my co-writer and editor, thanks for not letting me spell literally everything wrong. ciao.


End file.
